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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342697">Local Ed Sheeran lookalike gets wrecked.txt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin'>fvartoxin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Inside jokes abound, Slapstick comedy - at least in Jon's opinion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a friendship can be mainly comprised out of regularly taking the piss out of someone. God cannot stop a certain Dr. Jonathan Mackenzie Crane with or without the promise of cold, hard cash being on the table, and neither can The Riddler. Sometimes, you just learn to live with it.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not look like a couch.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Crane &amp; Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane &amp; Edward Nygma &amp; Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Local Ed Sheeran lookalike gets wrecked.txt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's odd how the difference between the two versions of Scarecrow I pen can be summed up with "This is basically a dad without the children. Dad energy" and "Horrible bendy straw of an early 2000's emo in the body of a man in his mid-60's". And of course, the former one rarely swears unless it's to make a point.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Edward,” the sound of Jonathan uttering his name just then snaps the middle-aged man out of his own thoughts. “<i>Edward Nygma</i>, I have been trying to get your attention for ten goddamn minutes now. Did you stuff wax into your ears or something? Come to think of it, I actually wouldn’t put that past you...” </p><p>Eddie being Eddie, he didn’t apologize, and instead simply cleared his throat, readjusting the Elton John-esque reading glasses that were perched on his nose. “I was distracted. Although, you’re not wrong. I am beginning to hate the sound of your voice. We’ve known each other for how long now?”</p><p>“The feeling’s mutual. Thankfully, I’m not obligated to be around you <i>every</i> day of the week. I pity Nina and Diedre.” He had to think for a moment, muttering under his breath as he looked vacantly out over the railing he’d set his elbows upon; if only to spot the Riddler’s henchwomen on the other side of the upper catwalk, conversing with Catwoman and what appeared to be Music Meister. Or, the woman who’d once been the singing supervillain, that was. It seemed as though a ‘hello’ was warranted later. “At least a decade, give or take a couple of years. Time flies, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“I’m almost hurt. Q and E love me, and I appreciate them as any man who knows how to treat a lady would. And, has it really been that long?” He questioned, and reached up a hand to idly stroke his patchy beard. “God, I’m older than I thought.”</p><p>“You’re 44,” Jonathan said in the flattest of tones, pointedly looking him dead in the eyes. </p><p>And indeed, he was. </p><p>“Do you ever question the passage of time, Jon?” Edward started suddenly, giving himself a shake as if awakening from some type of trance. “It can’t just be me. The years seem to go faster and faster as you age. It’s as though I blink and suddenly it’s practically the 31st of December again.” </p><p>“I think you’re the only one obsessed with graying hair here, Eddie,” he replied with a disdainful snort. “We both know how I intend to die, but on the off chance it doesn’t happen I’d take being a ‘silver fox’, as the kids call it these days, in stride. I hate to sound vain, but who knows; I might even look good.” </p><p>“As of now? You quite literally look like someone’s lumberjack father who willingly wears socks with sandals and thinks going to Home Depot makes for a decent day trip; the obvious differences being your chemically-induced sterility and that I don’t think you’d physically know what to do with a child if one suddenly appeared in front of you. ‘Good’ is subjective. Although,” he held up a finger, “I’m beginning to see what social media means by ‘Dadcore’ now. You’re the very embodiment of it.” </p><p>“I’d take ‘lumberjack with no parental skill’ over whatever you have going on any day,” he replied with a side-eye, and in a seemingly unconscious movement directed Edward closer to the stairs they’d previously ascended. “I mean, aside from the Heelys with a three-piece suit. We’ve talked about that before. That’s still awful, and if you don’t burn that whole ensemble I swear I’ll pay Firefly to do it for you one day; but that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Were you dressed by a circus clown? Actually — were you dressed <i>in the dark</i> by a circus clown? What the <i>fuck</i> is up with the eyes?”</p><p>“It’s called high fashion, Jon.” His reply was stuffy. The eyes in question were not nearly as grandiose as something such as those of Drs. T.J. and Eckleburg from a certain famed American literary classic, but rather intricately painted dress shirt buttons against a stark white background. <i>And</i> unnervingly realistic, to boot. “Considering you don’t read magazines or watch television, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Once a Luddite, always a Luddite?” </p><p>“It’s called ‘you look like you just stepped out of some pseudo-Victorian fantasy film made by that Tim Burton guy’,” the burlier man protested as he continued to shepherd Edward towards the worn stairwell. With each sentence, he inched closer and closer. “At first my question was ‘Do you have any other pairs of shoes’, but now it’s ‘Do you have any pieces of clothing at all which weren’t designed by a washed-up filmmaker?’ I don’t claim to be an expert on fashion, but even paisley doesn’t look good. Unless, of course, you enjoy looking like either a couch or my grandfather. Or if you’re Hugo Strange, I guess.” </p><p>“I <i>do not</i> look like a couch.” The grandfather comment, however, was debatable. Jonathan wasn’t one to talk about his family often, nor was their friendship of the type where you spilled your darkest desires to each other on a frequent basis. Some secrets remained just that. Secrets. “Do you have anything better to do than punch above your proverbial weight class?” </p><p>The commotion seemed to have attracted the attention of Jessie, who not-so-subtly elbowed Selina in the side (thus redirecting her focus as well) before pretending to turn back to the conversation at hand. Across from them, Diedre tapped her pocketed wallet and mouthed ‘keep him busy for a little longer and I’ll double what I promised you’; then grinned. </p><p>Jonathan happened to catch Jessie’s eye out of the corner of his own, but chose not to comment on the matter. Plausible deniability; even if Meister <i>was</i> a notorious gossip and her acting had always been half-assed. “At the moment? No. Just because I’m dating someone again doesn’t mean he needs constant monitoring like a child would. If anything, it’s likely old French Fry Man’s the one hovering. Provided Snart hasn’t dropped by Gotham, that is. I’m amazed one of them hasn’t succeeded in talking the other one’s ear off yet.” </p><p>“I should have expected that.” The thing about wearing Heelys is that it was harder than it looked to move comfortably in them, particularly if you were a grown man of above average weight who now mainly sat at a desk shuffling through missing person papers. And particularly if you were moving on a metal surface, with naught but a railing for support. “I swear, you complain about others’ lack of maturity and then you go and start a twelve-person fistfight over whether or not the hypothetical fusion of a spoon and a butter knife counts as a cheese knife. On New Year’s Eve, when just about everyone you could have packed in this building is unbelievably sloshed. <i>For fun</i>. Riddle me this; between the two of us, who’s the one currently holding down steady, <i>legal</i> employment?” </p><p>It was a blessing and a convenience he’d said that, for Edward was now practically standing on the top stair. How tantalizing. “Ahh, but the real difference between you and I is – you haven’t had fun in years.” </p><p>And then there the Riddler went, tumbling down in a blur of green and white. Were it not for the nose pads (not to mention the angle at which he’d been hit), his glasses would have flown from his face. “<i>Well</i>,” he managed to yelp as he narrowly avoided splitting open his skull through a frantic grab for the bannister above him, “my idea of fun is different than yours. For one thing, <i>I don’t try to kill people, you absolute fucking psychopath</i>.” </p><p>“Look on the bright side. You’re not dead,” was all that a chuckling Jonathan could manage in response. </p><p>“Remind me to piss in your coffee? I don’t think poisoning it would work, given that you’re…” His green eyes narrowed. “Well, that you’re you.” Catwoman had erupted into peals of laughter as well, and so he swung his head in her direction with a “<i>Really</i>, ‘Lina?” And then, “girls, you could at least help? Frankly, I’m disappointed.” </p><p>“Huh?” Nina queried, batting her eyes very convincingly. “Didn’t see anything, sorry boss. Just wondered what that crash was. I guess it was you!” </p><p>From behind her, Diedre threw out a “Yeah, me neither. Jess was telling me about that latest unfunny comedy routine she watched; what was that guy’s name again, Adam something? Jog my memory a little,” she offered, throwing an arm around the former Music Meister’s spaghetti strap-covered shoulder. </p><p>“Adam Sandler,” the electrolarynx buzzed in response. </p><p>“Him!” Diedre’s voice was full of triumph, and she clapped her hands reflexively. “Yeah, he’s pretty shit. Anyways, boss, be there in a sec?” </p><p>Edward bit back a sigh, and pitifully attempted to get back on his feet by himself. </p><p>“He was better on <i>Saturday Night Live</i>,” Selina pitched in once she’d stopped laughing; to this, Jessie nodded in assent. </p><p>“And how long ago was that? It’s gotta be at least twenty, thirty years, right? I never thought someone could just <i>degrade</i> like that…” Her voice, along with the voices of the other three women, quickly faded back into the buzz of normal conversation. </p><p>“Eddie.” Once again, Jon calling his name snapped his attention back into focus. “Have you ever considered purchasing normal shoes for once in your life? It doesn’t even have to be dress shoes. Although, I can’t say walking around in slippers is ever a good idea in this city.” </p><p>“Fight me, Jonathan. I mean it. You’re one beer gut away from looking like someone let you loose into a hardware store,” he spat, scowling up at the Scarecrow. </p><p>“And <i>you</i> look like someone tried to clone either Elton John or Ed Sheeran, but couldn’t decide on which. And then gave up halfway through because they realized their favorite T.V. show was on.”</p>
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